


won’t you stay with me tonight (you could be my cure)

by Novaviis



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Caretaking, Confessional Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 02:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15654294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novaviis/pseuds/Novaviis
Summary: Love is in the small gestures. In the aftermath of the fall, Shiro takes care of Keith through his recovery. Keith learns to let him.When Keith wakes up the first time, Shiro is there.It’s an ebb and flow, a tide pulled between bone deep ache and drug-addled awareness. Keith feels the push of air over his skin, cool and clean, before he hears the whir of a fan somewhere in the room. There’s soft blue light behind his eyes, but he squints and tries to block it out. The muscles in his face are sluggish and numb, and his head feels entirely too heavy on his neck. A groan crawls up his throat like he’s spitting out gravel. His fingers, stiff and sore, curl into a stiff blanket. It smells of fabric starch and disinfectant. The details slowly stitch themselves together; the final stand against Sendak, a Sincline Robeast, the Atlas, a burst of fire that eclipsed the sky-A hand covers his on the sheet. The voice in his ear is so soft that he can feel it brush across his ear. “Keith.”





	won’t you stay with me tonight (you could be my cure)

**Author's Note:**

> (look I know I used the "stay" thing in _we will call this place our home_ but consider: I'm so fucking emo for it.)
> 
> inspired by "Cure" by Barcelona.

 

When Keith wakes up the first time, Shiro is there.

It’s an ebb and flow, a tide pulled between bone deep ache and drug-addled awareness. Keith feels the push of air over his skin, cool and clean, before he hears the whir of a fan somewhere in the room. There’s soft blue light behind his eyes, but he squints and tries to block it out. The muscles in his face are sluggish and numb, and his head feels entirely too heavy on his neck. A groan crawls up his throat like he’s spitting out gravel. His fingers, stiff and sore, curl into a stiff blanket. It smells of fabric starch and disinfectant. The details slowly stitch themselves together; the final stand against Sendak, a Sincline Robeast, the Atlas, a burst of fire that eclipsed the sky-

A hand covers his on the sheet. The voice in his ear is so soft that he can feel it brush across his ear. “Keith.”

Keith scrambles upright – or tries anyway. The gasp he sucks in feels like swallowing sand. He grabs at the blankets and tries to bolt up but only makes it halfway before the weight of his own body sends him crashing back down. He braces his arms out behind him, shoulders shaking as his chest heaves. The room is dark. His vision is blurred, and all he can see is the foot of his bed, the blank wall and the strip of dim light stretching from corner to corner.

A soft orange light flicks on to his left, and Keith still finds himself wincing at the ache behind his eyes as they adjust. By the time he looks over, the light is eclipsed by a silhouette and firm hands are holding his shoulders – Shiro.

“Kei-Keith! Hey, take it easy. It’s okay, you’re alright,” he hushes him, voice all at once gentle and commanding. His eyes are steady, and Keith finds himself locking onto the sympathetic gaze. Shiro pushes on. “You’re in the infirmary at the Garriso -“

“The Paladins,” Keith croaks out. His voice cracks terribly, but swallowing only makes his throat feel worse. He tears his gaze away, eyes wide and wild as they flicker over the room in search of them. “The- where are the other Paladins?!”

“ _Fine_ , they’re all fine,” Shiro says, giving Keith’s shoulder a squeeze to bring his focus to him again. Keith complies, vision coming to clarity on Shiro, and Shiro offers a small smile as his hands relax and slip down to Keith’s biceps. “They’re in their own rooms recovering. Y’know, like _you_ should be,” he adds with a bare breath of a laugh.

Keith sags in relief, but his heart is still racing out of control in his chest. They’d all been ready to exchange their lives for the sake of Earth, ready to burn up like stars in the sky. That, oddly enough, wasn’t so terrifying at the time. What was terrifying was that split second possibility that he’d given the orders, and he’d been the only one to survive.

Shiro shifts, and Keith notices for the first time that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed as he reaches out with his new arm to grab a cup of water off the bedside table. Shiro brings the glass up to Keith’s lips, shifting his human arm around Keith’s back to support him. “Drink this,” he murmured. Keith does, but only makes it a few sips before he’s wincing and trying to push it away. Shiro’s brows furrow. “ _Keith_ ,” he says, and it sounds a little too much like a warning. Keith rolls his eyes just to be smart about it, but obeys and forces himself to finish off the Dixie cup.

“How long’ve I been out?” Keith wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, relying heavily on Shiro’s support to keep him up.

“Two and a half days,” Shiro replies as he tosses the cup into the garbage bin against the wall. “You crashed nearby the Garrison, but the others were a little more scattered. Had to fish Allura out of the Guelf, but she’s doing alright. We took- hey, c’mon, don’t touch that.”

Keith grimaces, removing his hand from the bandage wrapped around his head. “It’s annoying,” he grumbles.

Shiro, despite his admonishing, only shakes his head. Carefully, he guides Keith back down to the mattress, grabbing and extra pillow from an arm chair in the corner – it’s rumpled, and the foot rest is still kicked up. Keith wonders vaguely how long Shiro’s been waiting in his room, but the thought slips through his fingers as he’s propped up.

“It’s keeping your stitches from getting infected,” Shiro corrects him.

“Hm,” Keith hums under his breath. “Still annoying.”

“Still not taking it off,” Shiro laughs.

Keith only hums under his breath again, because his eyes are getting heavy and his body feels like it’s buoyant again. Conversation can take a backseat for a while. He’s never felt the need to fill the silence around Shiro, anyway. He drifts off, not that he really means too. Awareness comes in waves, and he slips in and out before he realizes he’s here or there. There are quiet noises around the room, the rustle of fabric, the pad of feet trying too hard to step lightly, the click of the lamp as it plunges the room into moonlit darkness. He isn’t sure how much time has passed before he feels the feather light brush of a finger pushing a lock of hair out of his face.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, once again close enough that Keith can feel his warm breath on his skin. “I’m going to go tell the Doctors you’re awake, alright? I’ll just be out in the hall.”

The disconnect between his brain and his tongue is too vast to bridge at that moment, so Keith just hums again and nods – an immediately regrets it. A spike is driven into the base of his skull, and a line of fire races over his scalp to the left of his temple. He whimpers, teeth gritted so hard he can feel the muscles in his neck tense. In the next instant he can feel fingers carding back through his hair, avoiding the sore spots like they’d memorized every single injury. Shiro is hushing him, a low croon that resonates through his whole aching body.

“Easy,” Shiro whispers. “I’ll be right back.”

Then the touch and the voice disappears. Keith’s eyes are still closed, and he drifts off again. The room is silent, save for the creak of the door opening. The whole interaction lasted maybe fifteen seconds, and in the aftermath, Keith isn’t sure that it wasn’t just a dream or hallucination. The black void of empty space flashes through his memory, the endless time dripping into fearful mirages that had him feral with terror. Keith forces his eyes open, and lifts his head just enough to look around the room. The chair in the corner is empty. Fear drips out from the centre of his chest, flushing heat through his ribcage.

“Shiro?” he calls out, his voice cracking again. No response. Keith swallows his panic but finds his throat too thick. He tries again, louder. “Shiro?”

His heartbeat is so loud in his ears that he doesn’t hear the footsteps pounding down the hall at first. The door pushes open wider as Shiro runs in. “Keith, what’s wrong?” he asks breathlessly.

Keith sags down on the bed, already feeling the embarrassment crawl up his neck and onto his cheeks. “Sorry- sorry, I just…” he can’t find the words because he doesn’t understand the panic himself.

Shiro’s steel gaze sweeps over him, searching for injury or distress, and when he finds it in Keith’s eyes, his shoulders drop. “Keith,” he sighs, reaching out again to push a lock of hair off his forehead. “I was just outside. Did you forget?”

“No,” Keith lies. “No, I was just… I wasn’t sure…”

“It’s alright,” Shiro saves him the struggle of explaining himself. He gives Keith’s shoulder a squeeze before slipping away again, this time just to the corner of the room. Keith’s gaze follows him, noticing the two Doctors that had followed Shiro inside. When only closes his eyes again when he’s sure he can still hear the soft murmur of their voices. He catches a few words here and there, a “severe concussion” and a “going to be okay” that sounds too close to a question. That one is Shiro. He sounds worried.

Keith drifts off again before he even notices, just hanging on by the bare ends of his senses. Whether the conversation is over or he just fell asleep through most of it he isn’t sure, but when he comes to again the door is closing and Shiro is stepping carefully across the room. Keith forces his eyes open, watching as he walks toward the chair.

“Shiro?” Keith calls out again.

Shiro looks up, the glint of alarm in his eyes dimming when he sees that Keith is alright. He changes course toward the bed. “Hey,” he whispers. “Do you need anything?”

Keith almost shakes his head but thinks better of it at the last moment. There’s only one thing that comes to mind. “Stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Keith,” Shiro reassures him. “I’ll just be over there if you need-“

“No, just-,” Keith breaks off in a sigh. Maybe it’s the concussion, but he doesn’t stop himself from reaching out and letting his fingers curl around Shiro’s human wrist. “Stay.”

For a long moment, Shiro doesn’t speak, just stares down at Keith’s hand before lifting his gaze to his eyes. Shiro deflates like he’s been holding his breath this entire time. “Alright,” he breathes as he lowers himself down to sit on the edge of the mattress again. Shiro reaches out, hesitates a moment, then allows his fingers to comb through Keith’s hair. “Alright.”

 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 

When Keith wakes the second time, Shiro isn’t there.

Krolia is sitting on the mattress by his feet, and Kolivan is lounging on the window seat. Seeing them both on Earth so out of the blue is a little jarring, but his mom is quick (and smug) to tell him about how their taking down Sendak is already spreading across Galaxies – that, and they’d hailed a Garrison signal declaring Earth a free stronghold.

He’d slept through another day apparently, not waking up for anything. The confusion is gone, and within most of the drugs he’d been pumped with, leaving him with a bit of a headache but nothing too minor. He was the last of the Paladins to wake up, despite being the first one brought to the Infirmary. Kolivan chides him for it, and Keith flips him off – which, of course, the Galran Warrior doesn’t understand, but it makes Krolia laugh at least.

They’re in the middle of catching up, talking about progress with rebuilding the Blades from the ground up, when a familiar and hurried set of footsteps bounds toward the room from down the hall. Keith looks over just in time to see Shiro stopping in the doorway, a little out of breath. Shiro takes one look at him and smiles almost bashfully, hand scrubbing over the back of his neck.

Keith smirks, raising his hand to his forehead in a lopsided salute. “ _Captain_.”

Shiro sputters for half a second before trying to cover it up, shaking his head and waving off Keith’s mockery. “At ease,” he replies with equal sarcasm. “Sorry, I-… wanted to be back before you woke up.”

“You were giving a speech at the memorial,” Keith says. “I heard. Are you, uh… are you okay?” He asks the question like he’s navigating a minefield blind. They both know he’s talking about Adam.

“Yeah, um, I’m…” Shiro stammers, looks down at his feet, and takes a steadying breath before meeting Keith with a subdued smile again. “I’m fine. Wasn’t easy, but… yeah.”

Krolia stands with a movement so swift it catches both Keith and Shiro off guard. She glances down at the holopad on her wrist, giving it barely three seconds to flicker to life before dropping her arm and walking toward Kolivan. “Well, looks like the Plaxian Delta base just reported in. Better get started on trading intel.”

Kolivan frowns, stoic brow overshadowing his eyes. “I haven’t received any notif-“

Krolia none-too-subtly digs her heel into his foot. “ _Now_ would probably be best, don’t you agree?”

Stern expression never wavering past a low grunt escaping his lips, Kolivan stands upright and nods to Keith and Shiro. “We’ll be taking our leave, then.”

Krolia and Kolivan are out the door before either Keith or Shiro can fully register what had happened, but with one exchanged look, they break into a soft, shared laughter. Shiro rounds the bed, taking up his position at the edge of the mattress.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Keith shrugs. “Like the equivalent of five nukes just blasted me out of the Thermosphere,” he replies, but backtracks when the joke doesn’t land. “Just a headache, Shiro. I’m fine.”

Shiro’s stern refusal to laugh dissolves into a sigh. “You were pretty out of it the other night,” he shakes his head. “Had me worried. And when we first found you…” Shiro trails off, closes his eyes, and Keith gets the distinct feeling that he’s trying not to relive that moment. “You scared me half to death. All of five of you did, but _you_ …”

It’s the first time that Keith really thinks about how bad it must have been. He wonders how much his head had been bleeding, what kind of state he must have been in. He feels guilty. He knows he shouldn’t, but- “I’m sorry. That you had to see that, I mean. But I’m fine now, Shiro.”

Shiro breathes out through his nose. “Keith… what you did-“

“Is exactly what you would have done.” The conviction of his response surprises even Keith, but he means it. It wasn’t a single decision made by him as Leader. It was a silent agreement between all the Paladins. He was just the one to give the commands.

Shiro looks for a moment like he wants to argue. He doesn’t. “I know,” he shakes his head again, a dry laugh bubbling from his lips. “And honestly? That terrifies me.”

Keith isn’t sure what to say after that, and Shiro knows he doesn’t need to elaborate. Silence blankets the room, and for possibly the first time, Keith can’t take it. “How are you, though? You’re not injured? After that fight with Sendak, you-“

“Keith,” Shiro cuts him off. He’s laughing again, but this time it’s genuine, shining in his eyes. “Why don’t you let me take care of you for a change, huh?”

That’s all there is to it really, and it comes to Keith in a moment of startling clarity. In some way, it’s not all that surprising. He’s always been devoted to Shiro, always known that he’d take on the Universe with his bare hands if it meant keeping him safe. And he’s known that Shiro would do the same for him. He’s just never really stopped to think— Shiro really does just want him to be _okay_ , even if it’s in the smallest of ways. Just getting a glass of water, or fluffing a pillow, or a smile across the room. Somewhere between defying death and fighting wars for each other, he’s forgotten the little gestures, the _power_ of them.

It was probably stupid of Keith to kiss Shiro in that moment, but he does it anyway. It’s a heartbeat, a breath, an “oh” moment, and then Keith is reaching up with one hand to cup the side of Shiro’s face and draw him in. Shiro freezes. Keith can feel the sharp intake of breath against his lips, but he doesn’t falter. He doesn’t doubt himself. And sure enough, in the next heartbeat, Shiro is sinking in against him. His hand smoothes up Keith’s arm, over his shoulder, and settles on the nape of his neck. They aren’t breathless when the part. A little dazed maybe, but there’s no strain. Keith opens his mouth to ask Shiro to stay, but Shiro’s catching his lips before he can get a sound out.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Keith is holed up in the Infirmary for another four days. Stir crazy doesn’t even begin to cover it. Two days in, Lance makes a comment about them thinking _Kosmo_ was bad with being confined, and is rewarded with an empty Dixie up thrown swiftly at his head. Pidge and Shiro think it’s a lot funnier than he does. He grumbles something about going to visit Allura before dodging another cup and leaving the room. Keith, Allura, and Hunk are a few days behind in recovery – heavier lions fall harder. At day three, Keith is the last one on strict bedrest orders while the Doctors check him over obsessively for signs of brain damage or infection in his wounds. By the end of day four, he’s about ready to claw his way out. He’s felt fine for the past day, hasn’t even had a headache. It takes Shiro making him promise to behave to resist arguing with the Doctors.

Keith is released. Keith and Shiro make it the walk across the Garrison to the Officers’ Barracks. They barely make it through the door of Shiro’s room before Keith is pushing Shiro up against the wall. Did they come to the room with the intent to fuck? Keith sure as hell did, but Shiro seems to be on the same page.

Keith’s mouth is on Shiro’s, swallowing an amused chuckle of his name. Shiro’s insistence on laughing at his eagerness has him frowning into the kiss, winding in arms around Shiro’s shoulders and scratching lightly at the hair on the nape of his neck – it pulls a groan out of Shiro that has Keith breathing in fire. Shiro’s hands find their way down to Keith’s hips. For all that Keith’s grown, Shiro’s hands can still nearly envelope his waist.

Shiro breaks away from Keith’s lips, and before Keith can voice his disapproval, Shiro is mouthing his way across his jaw and down his neck, dragging his tongue over his skin. Keith moans, and the sound alone is enough to make Shiro stop and make a mark on the junction of his neck and shoulder. Tilting his head to the side, Keith pushes his fingers up into Shiro’s hair. It’s only been a minute and he’s too hot for his skin, hard as diamonds.  Keith rolls his hips against Shiro’s, dragging his fingernails down Shiro’s neck and between his shoulder blades. The sound that Shiro makes is downright _obscene_ , but he pulls away, face flushed and eyes dazed as he forces himself to focus.

“Keith,” he pants, “Keith, wait. A-Are you su-“

“Shut up,” Keith cuts him off with another kiss, because if he wasn’t sure he wanted this, he _very much_ doubted he’d be grinding Shiro against the wall.

Shiro indulges in the kiss only for a moment before bringing his hands up to cup Keith’s face and breaking away. “ _Keith_ ,” Shiro presses, “your hands are shaking.” Keith frowns, looks away, and holds onto Shiro’s shoulders to mask the tremors in his hands. He was stupid to think Shiro wouldn’t notice, in-tuned to him as he was. Shiro swipes his thumb across Keith’s cheek, coaxing him to look up at him. “You just seem nervous.”

Keith nods, taking in a slow breath and letting it out all at once. He swallows, licks his lips, tries to stitch his thoughts together when he can barely grasp at them. He is nervous, and even worse, he’s transparent about it. He’s always tried to mask his nerves with action, pushing himself through it like they’re something he can run at head on. This is _Shiro_ , everything he’s fantasized about for years, the source of _way_ too many cold showers and nights spent trying to keep quiet with a fist around himself. He has every damn right to be nervous.  “Nervous is different than not sure,” he finally settles on.

It’s enough. Shiro smiles and kisses him again. This time it’s slower, as Keith lets Shiro take the reins and set the pace. Pushing off the wall, he guides them back toward the bed, until the back of Keith’s knees hit the mattress. Shiro is still kissing him as he sits, but he doesn’t push Keith back. He’s kissing his way down Keith’s neck again as he lowers himself down to his knees between Keith’s legs. Keith knows what’s coming at that point, and he can feel himself twitch in his pants, already dripping and wet.

It’s all Keith can do to keep his hips from shifting up against Shiro’s hands when he begins to undo the button and pull down the zipper. Shiro’s using one hand to tease along the waist band of his boxers and the other to push up the hem of his black t-shirt, kissing just above his navel. “Shiro,” Keith shudders out, knowing if he doesn’t speak soon his ability to speak is going to leave him entirely. “Shiro, you… you don’t have to-“

“Hey,” Shiro smiles from between his legs. His stomach flips. “Let me take care of you.”

There goes his speech. Keith nods, and then Shiro is spreading his thighs apart, and it’s all just a little too much to keep up with. As Shiro slowly pulls his boxers down his erection springs up, and Keith is _more_ than a little embarrassed about it, but all Shiro does is smile. It’s a different smile now, aroused and heated. The moment Shiro’s mouth touches the tip of his cock, Keith feels like he’s been electrified. A shiver runs through his entire body, hyperaware of every breath and graze of Shiro’s lips on his sensitive skin. Keith’s head tilts up, his eyes fluttering closed as an exhale shudders from his lungs.

Shiro drags his tongue along the shaft of Keith’s dick before taking it into his mouth. With a stuttered moan, Keith curls around him threading his fingers into the silver strands of Shiro’s hair. It coaxes the man between his thighs to bob his head more, slowly pulling at the frayed edges of Keith’s restraint until he’s in danger of coming apart.

“Shi- Shiro,” Keith moans when he’s left hanging on by a thread. “ _Shiro_ , I- ah…“

He snaps. Shiro takes him in deeper until Keith is completely surrounded by wet heat, and he tips over the edge with an open mouth whimper caught in the back of his throat. Half collapsing over Shiro, the world comes back to him slowly and the first thing he feels after the high is Shiro’s lips on his. He can barely move, but still manages to tug at the hem of Shiro’s shirt. Shiro pulls away and slips it off over his head.

Keith is still convinced at times that Shiro’s not real. Not in the sense of hallucinations or evil clones, but rather in the sense that it should be physically impossible to be _that_ perfect. He’s seen Shiro shirtless before, but never this close, never with the permission to reach out and touch. So, Keith indulges himself, trailing his fingers down Shiro’s abdomen and feeling his torso shudder under the touch.

It’s a bit of a tangle, the two of them trying to get their clothes off and keep kissing at the same time. They’re eager, and clumsy with it, kicking out of their pants, fumbling with hands on belts and zippers through hot breath and soft noises of want. Keith feels his heart go off like a volcano in his chest when Shiro stands from kneeling beside the bed to take off his pants and boxers in one motion. He’s sure it shows, because his gaze lingers a little too long on his erection and when he looks up, Shiro’s almost as red as he is. Keith tugs Shiro down onto the bed again, masking his nerves with action. He rolls them a bit, just enough to get Shiro on his back with his head on the pillows so he can straddle his waist.

There’s nothing between them now. Keith struggles to focus on one thing at a time – the heat of Shiro underneath him, the wet slide of his tongue in his mouth, the feeling of his hard cock brushing against his stomach. Keith grinds his hips down against Shiro’s, feeling himself grow hotter and needier with every shift of his hips. Shiro grunts against Keith’s lips, their kiss closer to just breathing heavily against each other. Keith feels the warmth of human skin and the cool brush of metal as Shiro steadies his hands on his waist.

“Kei- shit, _baby_ , slow down,” Shiro forces out, but even still his voice is thick with want.

Hearing Shiro call him “baby” is enough to shock Keith into actually listening, the endearment making his head sing. He braces himself on his forearms to lift half his weight off Shiro, ducking his head so he can hide behind the veil of his dark hair. He doesn’t have the chance to be embarrassed before Shiro is brushing his fringe back from his face, carding his fingers through Keith’s hair (blissfully free of any bandages).

“Baby,” Shiro repeats, and when Keith looks up there’s a smug glint in Shiro’s eyes that tells him he knows _exactly_ what kind of effect that had on him. “You’ve gotta tell me what you want.”

Embarrassment melts into frustration as Keith tries and fails to vocalize exactly what he wants. His head is too clouded, full of hot steam and pressure. “I want… _you,_ I…” Keith struggles to get his intentions out. Shiro encourages him, tucking his hair behind his ear. “I mean, I want you to… in me…” he finishes in more of a grumble than a whisper, stubbornly refusing to meet Shiro’s eyes. It’s not the notion itself that has him flustered, it’s just _saying it out loud_. Communication isn’t his strong point, and having to tell Shiro that he wants him to fuck him is living hell.

Shiro, despite all his efforts to stay calm and focused, goes red up to his ears. He clears his throat. “Okay,” he says, “so… you want me in you?”

“Do _you want_ a written fucking invitation?” Keith huffs, finally looking up at Shiro only to roll his eyes. There’s a moment of silence before they’re both bursting into laughter, pressing their foreheads together. This is awkward, and nerve wracking, and the words are clunky and unnatural, but they’re trying. Shiro tilts his head up, kissing Keith again and pushing his hand back to cup the back of his head. It takes Keith a moment to notice the prosthetic arm drifting away to reach into the bedside table, where Shiro pulled a drawer open and took out a bottle of lube. It’s still _really_ weird trying to get used to the floating arm thing, but Keith pushes that aside for _why Shiro has lube at the ready._

Shiro must see the question in his eyes, the slight, amused quick of his brow, because suddenly he’s the one that’s embarrassed. “I didn’t want to assume – it’s just, now that we’re – it’s better to be prepared, so I-“

“Shiro,” Keith chuckles. “It’s fine.”

The sound of Shiro pumping the lube into his human hand is enough to make Keith shiver. The brushed steel of the prosthetic smoothes over Keith’s waist and to the small of his back, before shifting down and gently kneading his ass. Keith can hardly breathe from the anticipating as Shiro slowly brings his human hand around, tracing a wet finger around his hole before pushing in. A gasp is punched from Keith’s chest. He’s so wound up, even the slightest touch is driving him mad. Shiro stops and carefully watches Keith’s face for discomfort. He waits for Keith to give him a stiff nod before slowly working him open.

Keith fists his hands in the sheets just to keep some semblance of control every time Shiro’s finger brushes against his prostate. Shiro adds a second finger, then a third, and it’s all Keith can do just to keep kissing him until he can’t wait any longer. Pulling back, he reaches behind him and wraps his hand around Shiro’s wrist, pushing him away. Before Shiro can argue, insist that he keep prepping him, Keith is kissing him again. It’s a bit sneaky on his part, distracting Shiro so he could reach out for the lube. When he breaks away again, Shiro realizes when he was doing and gives him an all at once disapproving and amused look. Keith only smirks. He squirts a pump into the palm of his hand. Reaching behind him, he takes Shiro’s cock in his hand. Shiro, for all his patience, grunts and bucks his hips up into Keith’s hand. Keith rises with him, continuing to spread the lube and jerk Shiro off. It’s with one more kiss, bending down to catch Shiro’s lips, that Keith lifts up slightly on his knees and positions himself over his erection. Shiro’s hands move to Keith’s hips.

Keith lowers himself onto Shiro slowly. He splays his hands out on Shiro’s chest, brow furrowed as he works through the stretch and sting. He’s loose and ready, but it still _hurts_ and first, and he expects that.  By the time he’s fully seated, it feels like Shiro is splitting him open, and he wants _more_. The ache lingers, but it’s ignorable. He looks up to find that Shiro is sweating, forcing his breath to come slow and even. Keith can feel the rise and fall of his chest under his hands, the heartbeat against his palm. Locking eyes, Keith exhales, then tentatively lifts himself up and rocks down.

Shiro’s hands tighten on his waist, even as Keith lets out a helpless moan. The man is tense beneath him, watching him like a hawk for discomfort. Keith presses his hand against Shiro’s cheek, trying to coax him into letting go. “Takashi,” he whispers, the name sounding all at once foreign and intimate on his tongue. “Relax.”

He sees the moment that Shiro’s eyes flicker, widening as a forced breath leaves him. If Shiro calling Keith “baby” had an effect on him, Keith can only imagine how the given name sounds on his tongue to Shiro. In any case, it seems to work. The tension seeps from Shiro’s muscles as he nods and smooth his hands down from Keith’s waist to his hips. He holds him there for a moment before rolling his groin up into Keith. A ragged breath leaves Keith with a chocked moan as he follows Shiro’s hips, and they start to establish a pace.

It’s slow at first, but that’s to be expected. They move with the rhythm of their breathing, a different kind of ebb and flow than Keith recalls from his drug-hazy memories of the infirmary – but all the same, it still brings him to Shiro. As the pace quickens, burning with growing pressure and desperate for satisfaction, Keith leans down and wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck. They’re barely kissing, just mouthing at each other with too much tongue and teeth. Shiro shifts his feet flat on the bed, knees up so he can fuck Keith harder when he begs for it.

When Shiro wraps his hand around his weeping cock and starts jerking him off in time with every thrust, Keith knows he’s a goner. He pushes up, bracing his hands on either side of Shiro’s head. “Takashi,” he gasps, and the sound is guttural, torn from the depth of his chest. "Ta-Takashi, _fuck fuck fuuhuhuuccckkk,_ I’m- hah, close,” he pants. Shiro only responds by swiping his thumb over Keith’s erection, grinding up into him faster, doing everything he can to help Keith come apart – and he does. Keith’s head tilts back, back arching, eyes closed, lips parting. He’s surprisingly silent when he cums, with how vocal he’s been until now, but it’s like everything in his body just shuts down, and a cry of bliss is muted in his throat. Feeling Keith’s orgasm surrounding him is all it takes for Shiro to follow suit. He fucks Keith through it, helping him ride it out, but his pace is uneven, erratic as his hips twitch and roll up into him. When Shiro cums, he’s groaning, voice pitchy, breaking as pushes in as deep as he can and he spills out.

It feels like hours before Keith can move, when in reality it’s been only seconds. He feels like he’s floating somewhere above his head and slowly drifts back down into his body. When he comes to his senses again, he can still feel Shiro throbbing inside him. Finally, Keith collapses on top of him. They’re body slick with sweat and lube and come, and the sheets stick to their skin. Keith is almost too tired to kiss, but he presses his mouth against Shiro’s like he needs it more than air.

Shiro’s arms encircle him. “Love you,” he pants into the kiss. “Keith, I love you.” Like he can’t say it enough.

Keith just kisses him more. It says enough. They know. Gradually, the throb and ache of arousal diminishes, and the two of them are left spent and satisfied on the mattress. He’s not entirely sure when, but at some point before sleep claims him, Shiro shifts them under the sheets and pulls the blankets over them. With his head on Shiro’s chest and an arm draped over his torso, he lets himself drift off.

When Keith wakes up in the morning, Shiro is there.

**Author's Note:**

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